


you wrote yourself behind

by timequakes



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Female Friendship, Gen, Tattoos, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:55:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timequakes/pseuds/timequakes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>four women who know about becky's tattoo, and one woman who knows about becky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you wrote yourself behind

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Your Naked Magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/764243) by [ashheaps](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashheaps/pseuds/ashheaps). 



> This was written off a prompt given by the talented ashheaps, and we both wrote on the topic and got to see what things we did similarly and what things we diverged on- if you read this, go read hers! This is mostly gen fic, but part of it is Becky/Amy, and there's Hope/Kelley if you squint.

**i.**

She’s twenty-four when she gets it.

It’s been a year since her first cap, and she’s been enjoying a whirlwind of success that is hard for her to hold onto. It’s crazy to her that she’s made it this far, even though she’s a realist; she’s always been the type to underestimate herself and she’s really the only one surprised at how _many_ times she’s been on the field. Little by little, as her confidence in herself grows, something else does, too- a worry. A nag. 

Faith was her best friend long before she was her sister-in-law (something sort of silly about falling in love with your best friend’s brother had turned into the real thing halfway through college), so it’s no surprise that’s who Becky drags with her to get the tattoo done. She doesn’t talk to anyone about it first, but she thinks about it for three months before she decides what she wants, and she has a picture in her wallet when she goes.

Faith is, thankfully, quiet about her surprise, and waits until the artist goes back into the recesses of the shop to ask.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Becky answers, level.

“Did you plan this?”

“Yes,” she answers again. Of course. And Faith knows this.

“Do you have an appointment?” the artist asks, once he’s back in the main shop, paper in hand.

“Yes,” she answers, a final time.

It doesn’t hurt half as badly as all the horror stories prepared her for. It starts as a pinch, and then it _does_ hurt, for a moment, but she gets used to it quickly. She tries to figure out where the artist is, what part he’s doing at any given second, but she knows it’s all speculation, and she’s glad for Faith, who holds her shirt up off of her back.

They go somewhere for lunch that allows them to sit on stools, because Becky doesn’t want to lean against the back of a chair or a booth, and it’s only then that Faith _really_ asks her.

“Does it mean something, or did you just want one?”

“Both, kind of. I wanted it because it means, ‘don’t take things for granted’, basically.”

“It’s a flower.”

“Yes, but it’s a _lotus_ flower.”

“I’m not following.”

Becky laughs, twirling the straw in her iced tea.

“Don’t worry about it.”

 

**ii.**

Ali’s a good roommate because she’s quiet, not because she’s clean.

She _is_ clean, but not like Lori or Barnie. She’s a self-contained mess. The real reason to room with Ali is that she’s _quiet_ , and for someone who reads a lot that’s imperative. Becky doesn’t expect to see her much, given that Ashlyn is at camp, too, and she certainly expects that she’s alone when she changes that night. It’s why she doesn’t bother to close the bathroom door.

Ali startles Becky when she turns around, and even though she’s wearing a shirt now she wasn’t half a second ago and from where Ali’s sitting it’s clear she’s been there longer than the shirt has. 

“Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to walk in on you or anything.”

“It’s alright.” 

And it is. They’re teammates, they’ve seen worse.

“I couldn’t help noticing though, I mean, you have a tattoo?”

Sometimes- often- Becky forgets about it, but now that it’s been mentioned she can feel it again, just in the middle of her back. Ali looks a bit like she’s not sure she should be asking, and it makes Becky laugh. 

“I do,” she answers, leaving it to Ali whether or not to continue the conversation. She’ll talk about it if she’s prompted, but she’s always been the kind of person to be careful not to talk about herself too much, because it’s something other people do that grates her and she’d hate to be a hypocrite. 

“What’s it mean? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She takes out her clothes for the next day and wanders over to her bedside table, trying to decide which of the two books she’s reading to pick up for the night.

“I don’t mind at all. It’s a lotus flower, kind of symbolic of the lotus eaters in the Odyssey, the lotophagi.”

Ali gives her a look that simultaneously says ‘I have no idea what you just said’ and ‘please continue’ and Becky has to hold back another laugh. She sits on her bed, cross-legged and facing Ali, and does her best to explain- it’s been a while since she’s had to, so she’s rusty.

“In the book these people lived on an island, and pretty much the only vegetation on the island was the lotus plant. They’d eat the flowers, but the flowers are narcotics. You’ve seen The Wizard of Oz, right?”

Ali nods politely.

“It was like when Dorothy and her crew fell asleep in the poppy field, but full-time. They were happy but mostly because they didn’t care about anything.”

“So it’s a cautionary tale?”

“Right, exactly.”

“That’s really cool,” Ali says, and Becky knows she means it, “did you get it in white ink so that it was inconspicuous, or what?”

“It’s not all white ink, actually, the petals have some pink in them, but yeah, that was the idea, I guess. I didn’t want anything showy. It just wouldn’t have been very....me.”

She’s thinking of Ashlyn when she says it, and she knows that Ali is, too, and they grin at each other a little in the lamplight, connected.

 

**iii.**

Becky has never met someone with as much nervous energy as Kelley O’Hara.

She’s green, so her nervousness is to be expected; certainly being switched from a forward to a fullback is one of the most difficult things Pia could have asked _any_ of them to do, but the way Kelley copes with it seems to be by not coping at all. When she’s on the field she doesn’t seem nervous at all. She works hard, and she’s making progress, but if she gets subbed in tomorrow against Mexico it’ll be her first cap as a defender.

She taps her feet like crazy from her spot at the hotel desk until Becky clears her throat, and then she apologizes profusely and starts tapping her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” she says, when she catches herself, and Becky puts down her book.

“You nervous?”

“Yeah.”

Kelley sounds miserable, but she also sounds like she’s not sure she can open up, and that makes Becky think. It’s important that Kelley trusts her. It’s important that the entire back line has trust for each other, on and off the field. There’s something else, though, something more personal that drives Becky to want to distract, to want to comfort, that pushes her to get off the bed and go to Kelley’s side.

“Can I show you something cool?”

Kelley blinks at her, a little wary, but when it doesn’t turn into a joke she grins like she’s surprised someone’s being nice to her, and it makes Becky want to hug her. She nods, a little overzealously, and Becky pulls her shirt over her head.

“Whoa! Whoa, wait, wow, that was, um, sudden-”

“I’m not seducing you, calm down.”

“You’re not?”

“No,” Becky’s laughing now, at Kelley’s reaction and her own lack of foresight, “I probably should have told you that up front.”

“Then what are you doing?”

“Showing you my tattoo.”

Kelley’s still blushing a little, but now she’s curious, getting to her feet just as Becky turns around and moves her hair over one shoulder for her to see. She’s a tactile person, Kelley, so Becky’s not surprised when she touches, tracing the petals with one fingertip.

“Whoa. I never would have pegged you as a tattoo person.”

“Me neither,” Becky admits, laughing again.

“Who’s it for?”

“Me.”

“That’s cool.” 

Kelley straightens up and Becky turns around, reaching for her shirt again now that the moment has passed and Kelley is sufficiently distracted.

“I mean, most people get tattoos to like, commemorate other people, right? I think it’s cool that yours is _yours_.”

That’s a new way to think about it, Becky muses, digging her copy of the Odyssey out of her suitcase and hands it to Kelley in hopes that reading will keep her preoccupied.

“It has to do with this. Borrow it, okay?”

Kelley nods, and Becky, still consumed by the urge to physically comfort, reaches out and rubs her shoulder.

“You’ll know when you get there.”

She’s not quite talking about the book.

 

**iv.**

Hope comes to Denver to ski with her husband, and Becky is surprised anyone even remembers that this is where she lives, but she answers the phone nonetheless and agrees to go out for drinks that night because it tickles her that Hope asked. 

She’s never really spent too much time alone with Hope. Not on purpose, just that within the team their circle of friends has never really overlapped; Hope, although friendly with her defenders, tends to choose one or two to be close to and remains professionally distanced from the rest. It’s an interesting opportunity to be alone with her outside of practice or a game or a tournament, and, just as Becky expects, Hope is way more fun off the job.

A few drinks in, especially.

“So, tell me about yourself, Reba.”

It’s the nickname Kelley came up with, and it’s a testament to how much time Hope spends with their fullback that she’s using it, too. Becky raises an eyebrow, peeling at the wrapper on her beer.

“You’re observant, why don’t _you_ tell me about me?”

Hope nods at the beer in Becky’s hands.

“That thing you’re doing with the wrapper is a sign of sexual frustration. You’re single.”

“Oof,” Becky laughs, leaving the wrapper, “right to the point, detective.”

“Straight, probably.”

“Probably,” she agrees.

“Straight- _edge_ , certainly.”

This makes Becky pause, and she does so very deliberately. Hope, of course, notices, and elaborates, clearly thinking she hasn’t been clearly understood.

“For instance, you were a studier in college. You probably drive the speed limit, or five above. Your ears are pierced but nothing else is.”

“All true,” she concedes, and Hope leans back into the booth smugly, “but I have a tattoo, so that has to count for _something_.”

Hope laughs in disbelief, taking a drink.

“No way. I’ve never seen it in the locker room.”

“Cross my heart.”

“No fucking way!”

It’s loud in the bar or Becky’d be concerned about that, but this is Hope so she’s really not surprised or scandalized, just entertained. Hope just stares at her for a minute, and then she leans over the table, resting on her elbows.

“Come show me.”

“Pardon?”

“In the bathroom, I wanna see it.”

The half a beer makes that seem a little less ridiculous, so she humors Hope, following her into the one-stall bathroom and locking the door before she pulls her shirt over her head.

“You can’t see it when I’m wearing a sports bra,” she offers. Hope reaches to touch it, her other hand flat against Becky’s back like this is familiar territory. Everything’s familiar territory to Hope, though, so all things considered that’s not surprising either. 

“I love white ink tattoos,” Hope says appreciatively. “I want one. When did you get it?”

“Almost four years ago.”

“And you never got another?”

Hope lets go of her, and Becky puts her shirt back on, starting to feel a little bit of the ridiculousness of undressing in a bathroom with one of her teammates, but not enough to be embarrassed about it.

“Nope, I only wanted the one.”

“I can never stop at just one of _anything_ ,” Hope complains kind of wistfully, and Becky decides not to read into it.

 

**v.**

"I didn't know you had one of these."

Amy's voice is soft, just softer than the touch of her fingertips in the middle of Becky's back, tracing lines that she herself had momentarily forgotten. She waits until Amy's traced all the way around it, and then she lifts her head from the mattress to look over her shoulder. Amy's smiling , resting two fingers against the tattoo, but it's a shy smile like the fact that they're naked and in bed together hasn't emboldened her at all.

"It's pretty," she offers, and Becky smiles back, rolling over to steal the words off of Amy's lips. They go on for a while with no real urgency, in a kind of haze of skin on skin and laziness that's only possible in the middle of the night. Amy loops her arms around, finds the tattoo again with her left hand and the dip of Becky's shoulder blade with her right, and when there's breath in their lungs again she has another question to answer.

"What kind of flower is it?"

"Lotus."

Amy smiles a little, the way she does that's just for them and for moments like this. 

"Like in the Odyssey?"

She's the first to get it without explanation and Becky's surprised even though the longer she thinks about it the less shocking it is. Her smile grows into an out and out grin that makes it hard to answer, but she manages.

"Yeah."

"What's it for?"

It's a different question than she's used to, different from Ali's "what's it mean?" or Hope's "when did you get it?" or Kelley's "who's it about?" and it takes an extra second for her to formulate the right answer. It's more direct this way, like she intended.

"To remind me never to live in apathy."

"Did you get it because you were? Living in apathy, I mean."

"I don't know. I think I was afraid I would. I didn't want to miss anything. I wanted to remember to notice everything, good or bad."

"I think it fits," Amy deliberates after a few seconds, and Becky laughs into her neck.

"You think I'm apathetic?"

"No," now Amy's laughing, too, and rolling them so that she's bracing against the mattress with her forearm, hovering, "the flower. I think the flower fits. It's pretty but it's dangerous. Like you."

"Should I take that as a compliment?"

Amy kisses the spot below Becky's ear that she'd gotten at before, a spot that's reddened now and will still have a mark in the morning.

"I _did_ call you pretty."


End file.
